


You Wish

by AlTrashmouth



Series: Kartie Works [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Brief suicidal thoughts, Internalized Biphobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions to hospitals, Other, Self-Hatred, Tiny homophobic language?, brief bullying, mentions to blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlTrashmouth/pseuds/AlTrashmouth
Summary: Artie Abrams wishes to dance.
Relationships: Artie Abrams/Kurt Hummel, Past mentions Tina Cohen-Chang/Artie Abrams
Series: Kartie Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935076
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

You wish.

You wish to dance again.

Stripped from your childhood like a simple small child grabbing a flower away from the garden, dancing- was stolen from you and your dreams.

You would trade the world, to dance one more time. To move around and skip and bounce. To put another show on for your stuffed animals and your mother. To go and get a standing O.

To dance one more day, you’d say that’d be the last day to live. Just to feel yourself glide across your room. Just to feel that amazing feeling when you think it’s just you, humming to yourself as you dance here and there. That feeling when you feel like you’re at peace from all the teasing at school. Just a breath of air.

All of that stripped from you in one quick motion.

Started as a simple mother-son day out.

Only 8 years old.

2 in the evening.

Then you took a tumble.

Everything went red and then went black.

Everything was silent and you could swear that was your last breath. Then you felt your heartbeat. Then you heard screaming. Then everything went dark again.

You never would’ve guessed that the next day, there was no dancing. Everything ached and your mother weeped when you didn’t understand why you were in the hospital.

The world went so slow from there, then in a few months everything went too fast.

Wheelchair lessons, hospital bills, hope to dance again. Only one was a desperate wish to come, while the others were a desperate wish to leave. It was the opposite. The maneuvering lessons grew. The hospital bills grew. And you soon realized you’d never dance again.

Four-eyes.

Freak.

Cripple.

You start to lock yourself in your room more,

Fearing to see the world, fearing for the world to see you. ‘Why me?’ Was your frequent question and it felt like the world just hated you.

The thought of the world hating you, made you turn and hate yourself for not being able to move and dance and you’d yell at the mirror while your mom was on the other side of the locked door, hearing you weep.

You didn’t want to go to school, but you had to. You had to roll down those halls. After 5 years of homeschooling, you had to go back, last year, to middle school.

You knew to keep your head low, to try not to run into someone. Their whispers grew louder and it sounded like they would be screaming at some moments. Most moments. The screaming, the redness, the darkness, everything swirled in your mind at night and you wish to just forget.

You wish to dance again. To stand up and twirl one of the most gorgeous girls you ever met in your arms. To waltz, to leap, to cheer. You make a friend and she seems like you.

You think there is hope for once and you just can’t stop smiling around her. Everything seemed to look up a bit. Yet, those nights where you lay in bed, you wish you could stand and pick that girl up to just kiss her.

You wish to dance.

You tell yourself you will dance.

Your mom smiles and nods, says that maybe.

The beautiful girl smiles and stutters an, of course.

You tell those jocks who laughed at you and they call you more names.

You wish to dance. Some day you will. To teach the world a new dream. That you’ll get up and dance. Your singing starts up again as you imagine your voice lifting you, keeping you up as you dance. You go to the beautiful girl, dance and she smiles. Everything is perfect, until you wake up to your alarm.

You want to cry, because here you are, stuck. You can’t get out of bed by yourself and you need your mother's help. You need someone else that can move their legs to help you move. Your arms grow sore when wheeling too much and you so badly want to get up and run.

You want to run, sing, and dance around everything. You wish you were 7 again, putting on shows for your stuffed animals and mother and getting a standing O. You wish that you never went on that mother-son day. You wish that the doctors were wrong. You wish that it was all a prank. You wished the next day that you wouldn’t wake up, and when you did, you cried for hours.

You wish to get up and dance.

You wish.


	2. Dream a Little Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wishing can only go so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in season 2, Blaine doesn't exist.

You never believed you'd be excited to go to prom, a year ago you would’ve faked a gag and laughed at that foolish thought. Yet, when you did imagine going to prom- a stupid social group the school puts on where only popular kids actually care- you always imagined you'd go with your girlfriend. Though, after your break up and she went with someone better, you didn't think you'd be ever going to prom. Then you talked more with him. You grew close. The next thing you know, is that your lips are upon his soft, bright cheery, cinnamon roll tasting lips.

You're going to prom with the most beautiful boy you have ever set eyes on. The only boy you have eyes for, and forever will. His smile, something so simple that can make you lose track of your thoughts and just stare in awe. When his eyes light up with joy, you lose your mind because he's so gorgeous. You're taking him to prom, who cares if people stare. You're going to dance with him at prom, who cares if people laugh. It’s a dream come true. You’re lovesick, absolutely lovesick for him.

You asked him to prom after physical therapy, May 2nd. He's been coming with you every day, you have never been so thankful for him. There has been an outbreak, a procedure to help people like you- to walk again. You cried when you heard the news. He was there. He cried with you. Your physical therapy has been moving smoothly- there were bad days where you went home with him and sobbed. There were good days, where you cried but happy tears because you took a step.

His arm was wrapped around your waist as he helped you out of the car. You weren't bound to your chair- your arms grabbing him for stability. You take a few steps, they're incredibly slow and a bit painful- but you're walking. He's wearing a beautiful suit/dress. He reminded you at least 3 times it's a kilt, not a skirt. He looks perfect. You were wearing a bright red suit, hair done by him- which you loved because he did it and it made you feel good.

You and him walk up the school, entering- heading to the gym. The prom. Your friends laugh and are either talking in groups or just to their date. You're focusing on walking while he whispers words of encouragement into your ear. You feel like the king of the world. You and him finally walk into the gym. People stare because you're two boys. Two boys going to prom. Together. As a date. You don’t care. Let them stare- who could pull their eyes off the most perfect male there, who just happened to be your date.

You don't care because your eyes are only on one boy and he is leading you to the dance floor as music surrounds you. You grip his shoulders as he holds your waist and you both begin to waltz together. You're dancing. You're dancing with a boy, the most perfect boy. Everything feels amazing. It feels too good to be true.

"Artie."

"..."

"Artie!"

"Hm?"

Your eyes pop open- the sound of your alarm clock blaring too loud. The sun is too bright and you look around your room, spotting your mother at the doorway, laundry bin tucked under her arm as she knocks against the wall to get your attention.

"Artie, c'mon. You're going to be late to school!" 

You look around, sitting yourself up a bit. You rub your eyes and then slam your hand upon your alarm, it falls quiet. Your breath feels short as you look down at your stiff legs. You let out shaky breaths, turning to look over at the side of your bed. Your wheelchair stares back. You break. Sobs pour out of you as you lay back in back.

Prom is in three days, it's that Friday. It’s May 7th. You're not going with the beautiful boy, because you can't be that way- it's disgusting. (Yet you don’t mind that he's that way, it’s just you can't be that way.) You're not going to dance with him because your legs are fucked up- you are fucked up. (Four-Eyes. Freak. Cripple. Queer.) You are never going to dance with the boy. It's a curse, being bound to a chair and unable to be who you truly are.

You sob, wishing you never woke up.


End file.
